The Art of Gold Digging
Ch.33- Insanity.

The silence that followed the man's words was absolute. Everyone stood agape, staring at the person in the center of the barren room who had claimed to be Crow's father.

Amy too was paralyzed; she could barely believe the man actually made a direct appearance. It took her more than a few seconds for her mind to catch up. However, she did not stay in that shocked state for long. Right now, that wasn't the thing that mattered to her the most. Even if logically that should be her main concern, it really wasn't.

Crow's father's appearance was indeed somewhat horrifying, but also expected; they had known after all that he was in this nightmare. Instead of focusing on the man that shouldn't be here, her mind was still reeling from Libris's ominous words. The book had gone completely silent now.

Her fingers trembled as she clutched her satchel, desperate to feel some response from within. She barely managed to resist the urge to open her mouth and demand explanations; as much as she wanted to find out what the fuck was going on with it, she knew better than to be drawing attention to herself right now. Even a whisper would feel like a scream in the current situation.

Whatever Libris was planning, whatever it meant by 'setting things right'—Amy had a feeling she was about to find out.

"Who are you?" Crow's voice cut through Amy's spiraling thoughts. His words came out controlled, as if each syllable required conscious effort.

The older man—who claimed to be Crow's father—studied his son's face with a sad smile. "You've become strong, just like I hoped."

"That's not an answer." Crow's hand shifted subtly on Bloodedge's hilt, his knuckles whitening. Amy could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched between words. "I asked who you are."

"I already told you. I am your father," the man said softly.

Crow's eyes narrowed. "Prove it." His voice remained steady, but Amy noticed the slight tremor in his free hand before he clenched it into a fist. "Anyone could claim that. Anyone could wear that face."

"Your eyes should tell you as much, no?"

"The only thing my eyes tell me is that you aren't a blood mimic," Crow said, his voice dropping to something dangerous despite his obvious effort to remain calm. "It doesn't mean you are my father."

The man's expression shifted, something like understanding crossing his features. "You're right to be cautious. That's... that's good. You've learned not to trust easily."

"I learned that from being abandoned," Crow shot back, then visibly caught himself, taking a slow breath.

"Son… I understand this might be difficult. But we both know that I'm indeed the person who has appeared in your hazy memories since you gained self-awareness, the same one of your dreams—we both know."

"..." Crow did not respond. Instead, he slowly began moving, circling him, examining every single one of his details while using his ability. It wasn't until he did a full turn and came back to his original position that he spoke once again.

"Who are you?"

"I told you, I'm your—"

"I know," Crow interrupted, his hand squeezing against his blade. "I know you are my father… What I'm asking is… Who is my father? Who are you? And who am I…?"

The man's expression shifted, something like regret flickering across his features. "You want to know who you are?" He let out a soft, bitter laugh. "You probably know that better than I do."

"No… No, I don't…"

Silence filled the room. Iris and Ash exchanged uncomfortable glances while Lyra, Zayd, and Lain's eyes did not wander away from Crow, emotions ranging from curiosity to worry traveling their respective faces. Amy, meanwhile, was looking attentively between the two while intermittently glancing at her satchel, worry evident in her face.

"..." The man took a deep breath, and after a while he spoke. "I'm Abaddon Thorne," he began, his voice low and strained, "and you are Rue Thorne, but I believe you now go by Crow…"

Crow visibly flinched uncomfortably at the name 'Rue'.

Abaddon noticed and frowned, but did not comment on it. Instead, he continued talking. "And… yes. You are my child… The same one I was forced to abandon in order to save."

"Save?" Crow's voice cracked. He seemed to be trying to suppress his emotions without much success. "I have no idea what you are talking about… I grew up in an orphanage with nothing but fragments—dreams of a face I couldn't remember, a voice I couldn't place. I spent years wondering if I was insane, if the memories were even real… And then," he tightened his grip against Bloodedge's hilt, "I find out you've been leaving me breadcrumbs. Notes. Keys. Like this is all some elaborate game to you."

"It was never a game," his father said quietly.

"Then what was it?" Crow's voice rose, echoing off the bare walls. "A test? Were you watching from the shadows, grading my performance? Seeing if I was worthy of your attention?"

Amy felt Libris shift slightly in her satchel—the first movement since its ominous silence began. Her heart jumped, but she forced herself to remain still.

"I had no choice," Crow's father replied. "The enemies I made, the things I discovered—they would have killed you without hesitation. An orphanage, anonymous and forgotten, was the only place you could grow up safely."

"And the blood mimic wearing the Headmistress's face?" Crow's voice turned ice-cold. "Was that part of keeping me safe? Brutally killing her?"

"..."

"What is your relationship with the blood emperor?" Crow raised his blade towards the man who did not flinch even a bit at the gesture. "What is it that you are searching for? Are you one of his lackeys?"

His father's expression darkened. A pause. Then: "I can't go into details," he finally said, "but I can tell you that I do not work for that...beast… We merely set aside our differences when our objectives align."

"I don't understand ...why did you kill her? The headmistress?"

Crow's question hung in the stale air as Abaddon's gaze drifted to the cracked plaster of the far wall. He stepped away from the circle of faces, moving slowly toward a shattered windowsill. With a gloved finger, he traced the outline of a scorch mark.

"I never killed Elyndra," he said at last, voice low enough that Amy had to strain to hear. "I only helped her let go."

He bent, inspecting a loose floorboard. "This room," he continued, rising and sweeping his arm to the empty, dust-choked space, "was once hers. Before the colossus arrived, she lived here—still does in our reality. During her days off, she would sit by that window," he gestured toward the opening, "with her only companion, a cat named Mirabelle." He stepped toward the center of the room again. "You found her later, at the Fallen Inn. That inn, she always loved that place, never told me why." He smiled wryly.

"Sounds like you knew her well," Crow said with suspicion in his eyes.

"I did, she kind of raised me," Abaddon admitted, folding his arms, "...that's why I lent my help when this version of her asked me to. In the ruins, she lost everything—home, identity, even the pet she loved so much. She didn't die by my hand; she chose oblivion, and I gave her the means."

"And how do I know you are telling the truth—"

"Please, Rue. I'm strong, but not that strong. She is the only soul to survive the Devourer's tears, the only one who did not turn into snow. I couldn't possibly have killed her myself."

"Devourer?" Crow echoed, incredulous.

"The dark angel in the sky. And don't ask me about it because I don't know what that thing is either… I only know it's a being of pure entropy, one whose tears consume every living being and turn them into snow. Even chaos creatures in three days will succumb to its tears once that thing wakes up…"

"Do you truly not know what that is?" This time, it was Iris who had talked. Her gaze on Abaddon was hard and full of understandable distrust. "Because you seem full of shit to me."

The man looked at her with a dark expression before shaking his head and turning to Crow once again. "Go to the library and seek answers. And if you fail just like I did, ask Elyndra back in the regular world. I bet she will have many of the answers you seek. If there is one thing she possesses, it’s knowledge, maybe even more than the one I have… I believe that she even knows the faction behind all these fluctuations in fate that cause me so much trouble…"

Amy glanced sideways, and a cold suspicion curled in her gut. She did not think she had caused a big enough change in fate to provoke the massive avalanche that these past few hours had been. But if she did… could it be that the headmistress suspected it was her…?

"So…" Crow spoke, breaking Amy out of her thoughts, "You are saying that you did not kill the headmistress out of ill will… But what about the blood mimic, and more importantly, Building B?"

Silence filled the room, and Amy could feel the tension instantly rising.

For a moment, Abaddon said nothing. Instead, he took a deep breath as he seemed to gather his thoughts before speaking. "A small little test. For you, Crow," he replied after a pause. "I knew you would handle it well, just as you handled everything else I put in your path. You're stronger than you know, Crow. Strong enough to—"

"Stop." Crow's voice cut through the air. "Just... explain to me, plainly, why? Just…what are you? Why are you doing all this? I just want to know why you're here, now, after all this time. What is it that you want?"

This time, the man took longer to respond. "...because the game—as you call it—is coming to an end. The pieces are all in motion now. The Blood Emperor's remnants, the Tribe of Onyx, the Academy's secrets, the thing in the sky… And wildcards I didn't account for."

Amy stiffened at the mention of wildcards.

Yeah, I'm fed up with those too…

"The Library," Crow said flatly. "This is about the Library."

His father denied with a shake of his head. "The Library is only a small step..."

"What do you mean?" Crow demanded.

"The path I've guided you toward is a longer one, and it offers what we—No. What you truly need."

"What I need…?"

"Listen, son. I have seen the future. I'm a true Prophet."

Expressions of surprise appeared throughout the group. Everyone except Amy was shocked at the revelation, especially Zayd, who looked like his eyes were about to pop out.

True Prophets were, after all, just like Kaelen explained in class, people who saw the world in a way that others would never be able to understand.

"The 'Goddess' talked to me, and it showed me the future. I've seen what happens if you take any other path," his father said simply. "I've seen this world, and you die a thousand different ways, in a thousand different futures. This—" he gestured to nothing in particular, "—as imperfect as it is, is the only timeline where you have a chance."

"A chance at what?"

"Survival. And more than that—victory. Everything I've done…everything I've worked for, it was all for you, son."

Silence fell again, heavy and oppressive.

Amy could hear her own heartbeat, unnaturally loud in the quiet. Seeing things from Act 3 happening while in Act 1 made her feel very nervous about the future. Act 3 was hell, after all. The same hell where Lain died…and the same hell she had to stop…

[Amy.]

The whisper in her mind made her jump. It took her a moment to process that Libris was finally speaking again.

[Did you know that True Prophets have a rather funny curiosity about them? They can see the future, yes, but they become remarkably blind to the present. Always looking ahead, never truly seeing what's right in front of them. Isn’t that funny?]

What…?

"Enough riddles," Crow said. "Stop the games. Tell us plainly what you seek—"

"We need to leave," Lain's unusually loud voice cut through the conversation, her silver eyes darting toward the open door. "...the chaos creatures... I can see scouts in the distance… they might pick up our scent soon."

"What?" Crow exclaimed, his third eye flickering to life as he scanned the exterior and grimaced.

Then his eyes swept across the room, lingering on corners and shadows before settling on a section near a wall on the far left corner of the room. The stone there seemed different somehow—newer, or perhaps just less weathered than the surrounding masonry.

"The teleporter," he said tersely, already moving toward it. "It's behind that wall. We need to—"

"I'm not finished speaking."

The temperature in the room dropped suddenly. Crow's father hadn't moved, hadn't raised a hand, but somehow he was there—between them and the wall.

The words were soft, almost gentle, but they carried an undercurrent of power that made Amy's skin crawl.

Ash's fists began to glow with enhancement magic, veins of light crawling up his forearms. "Back off, old man."

"Yeah, move out of the way, old fart," Iris shifted her weight, dropping into a combat stance. Her muscles coiled, ready. "We don't have time for family drama."

Even the weak Lyra raised her hands like she was the one about to fight.

But Crow held up a hand, gesturing them to stop, his dark eyes never leaving his father's face.

"Wait."

"Crow," Ash said urgently. "We need to go. Now."

"Yeah, we need to get the fuck out of here now," Iris added. "Your daddy issues can wait until we're not about to be eaten alive."

"I said wait," Crow repeated, his voice harder, carrying an edge that Amy had rarely, if ever, heard from him. "I need to hear this."

Zayd shifted nervously, his usual composure cracking. "Fate is completely out of control. I have never seen anything like this before. I think—"

"Quiet."

Zayd frowned, an expression of anger appearing on his face. "Thorne, you don't tell me what to—"

"Quiet."

The word slammed through the protests. Crow's grip on Bloodedge was white-knuckled. The sword remained lowered, but the threat was obvious.

Zayd bit his lip, and seemed to consider going either way, but once he looked around him at Crow's friends, who had frozen at Crow’s strong command and seemed hesitant to fight the protagonist, he scowled and stayed silent, going to a corner, performing whatever weird magic he was doing.

Meanwhile, through all this, Amy stayed silent, paying enough attention to what was going on so she did not miss anything while at the same time looking and tapping her satchel with urgency.

Libris was emitting a soft, barely noticeable light, as if it were preparing something. That idea made Amy's heart pound increasingly harder and harder.

"Speak, then. But make it quick," Crow said, looking towards his father.

His father's lips curved into that same sad smile as before. "Quick? Oh, my son. What I have to tell you has taken me decades to understand. But I'll try."

He took a breath, and then, he spoke again, "Tell me, Crow—have you ever wondered why suffering seems so inherent to existence? Why every moment of joy is paid for with equal or greater sorrow? Why the strong prey upon the weak, not just in nature, but in the very fabric of reality itself?"

"Philosophy?" Ash interrupted, incredulous. "You want to discuss philosophy while a horde might come here at any moment?"

The man completely ignored the commentary, his gaze never wavering from his son. "This might seem insane, but the Goddess… I've seen her…"

"Fuck, he is crazy. It's over for us," Iris exclaimed.

Abaddon once again did not even seem to register her voice, nor did Crow.

"The Goddess showed me the truth, Crow. In a moment of what she considered mercy—or perhaps merely sport—she pulled back the veil and revealed the nature of our reality."

Amy felt her blood run cold at his words. Her fingers found the edge of her satchel.

Wait. What is he talking about?

"This world," he continued, his eyes growing distant, "is not what you think it is. We are not children of a benevolent creator, watched over with love and care. We are... subjects. Participants in something far crueler."

"You're talking in riddles," Crow pressed.

"Am I? Then let me be clearer then." His father's expression hardened. "The entity some ignorant humans call the Goddess—that the eastern church prays to, that they thank for blessings and beg for mercy—she exists… And it is not our creator in any meaningful sense. She is our architect, yes, but in the way a child is architect to an ant farm. She built this reality as a controlled environment. A space where suffering and joy, hope and despair, love and loss could play out in endless variations. The real God is a different being. Not the one the Tribe is trying to revive, but an entirely different one, one named as a demon by the fakes."

"That's blasphemy," Lyra whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.

"Is it?" He turned to her, and Amy saw something scary in his eyes—not madness, but a clarity that was somehow worse. "Lyra, right? You are quite devoted to her, I assume. You are from that part of the continent, are you not? In all your prayers, has She ever answered? Has She ever intervened to stop suffering? No. Because suffering is not a flaw in Her design—it IS the design."

A distant howling in the distance could be heard. Ash immediately went towards the door and closed it, his expression turning into a scowl.

"But here's the beautiful irony," Crow's father continued, turning back to his son. "In showing me this truth, in revealing the fundamental cruelty of our existence, She made a mistake. She gave me something She never intended—a purpose beyond Her script."

"What purpose?" Crow asked, his voice strained.

"Freedom. Not just for myself, but for all of us. A way to break the chains of this false reality." His gaze sharpened. "She showed me that the only way to transcend this prison was to forge a key from within. And that key..." He gestured toward Crow. "Is you."

"Me?" Crow's voice cracked slightly.

"For all Her power, even She must follow certain rules, for she is not a real God—constraints woven into the very foundation of reality. She cannot act directly in ways that would shatter the illusion. So when She revealed the truth to me, She also revealed the limitations of Her influence." His expression grew pained. "I couldn't simply tell you what needed to be done. I couldn't guide you openly or protect you directly. The rules limited me just like they limited her."

Amy's hands trembled. This wasn't a conversation from Act 3. This was straight up not in the manga. What in the hell was going on?

Since entering the nightmare, it felt like there was nothing she could predict. Almost as if she were walking completely blind.

[Steady,] Libris whispered in her mind, once again making her jump. [Remember what I told you. I got you. Calm down and listen attentively.]

"So you abandoned me," Crow said, his voice flat.

"I played the role I was forced to play. The absent father. The mysterious manipulator. The shadow pulling strings from the darkness." He smiled bitterly. "Even now, speaking these truths aloud, I can feel the weight of Her displeasure. But it no longer matters. The endgame approaches."

He gestured toward Crow's shoulder. "Show them."

Crow's hand moved instinctively to his left shoulder, covering it protectively. "How do you know about—"

"Show them," his father repeated, more gently this time. "They deserve to understand what's at stake. I assure you, if you don't show them now, you will regret it—this isn't a threat, but a father advising his son. This might be your last opportunity to do it."

For a long moment, Crow didn't move. He looked back and forth between his friends and his father. Then, surprisingly, with visible reluctance, he followed his father's words and pulled aside his shirt collar. Amy leaned forward despite herself, though she already knew what she would see.

There, etched into his skin like a brand, was a crimson mark—intricate patterns that seemed to pulse with their own inner light. It resembled a flower blooming, or perhaps a star going supernova. 

The Mark of Ascension, though Amy kept that knowledge to herself. It was the thing that gave Crow his three abilities and one of the big mysteries of the manga.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" his father said softly. "And terrible. A gift and a curse wrapped into one. Everything I've done—every trial I've put you through, every mystery I've left for you to unravel, every moment of pain and confusion—it was all to nurture that mark."

"I don't understand," Crow said, his voice barely above a whisper. "This mark... I've had it since..."

"Since the day I left you at that orphanage. Yes." His father's expression grew pained. "It was the last thing I could give you directly. After that, I could only... influence. Guide from afar. Create circumstances."

"What does it do?" Iris demanded, apparently forgetting her urgency to leave in the face of this revelation.

But it was Crow who answered, his voice hollow. "It grows stronger. After every major battle, every loss, every moment where I push beyond my limits. I always thought it was responding to my growth, but..." His eyes widened in horrible realization.

"Now you begin to see," his father said sadly. "The mark doesn't respond to growth, or victory, or even effort. It feeds on something far more specific."

The howling outside grew louder. It was clear they were spotted. If they did not get away from here soon…

"Suffering," Crow breathed, the word barely audible.

"Indeed. Gradual, purposeful suffering," his father confirmed. "Not mere pain—that would be too simple. It requires the slow dismantling of everything you believe, every comfort you find, every truth you think you know. It needs loss that cuts deep enough to leave scars on your very soul."

"You're insane," Lyra said, her voice shaking.

"You think so?" He replied without looking at the trembling girl. "Perhaps madness and revelation are separated by a thinner line than we'd like to believe… You know, I had planned for this to take years more. Careful manipulation, slowly building the pressure until the mark reached its full potential. But..."

His gaze flickered to Amy, just for a moment, but she caught it. Her heart hammered in her chest.

"Circumstances have changed. Inexplicable variations in the pattern. Events occurring out of sequence, people appearing where they shouldn't, choices being made that deviate from every future I'd foreseen…. And the worst part is that I don't even know why…" He frowned. "The careful web I'd woven has been disturbed. Which means I must accelerate my plans to salvage what isn't yet broken."

"...they're here," Lain announced urgently, pressing herself near Ash, against the door. Her face had gone pale. "...dozens... no, more... surrounding the building… I think they might be under command to…waiting for more to regroup…"

"No time to lose then. We're breaking through!" Ash shouted, starting toward the wall where the teleporter was hidden. "Crow, snap out of it! We need to move!"

Crow stood dazed, his eyes not leaving his father. "You, I—"

"NOW!" Iris yelled, grabbing Crow's arm with the headmistress' artifact to pull him toward the wall.

But Crow's father moved with impossible speed, suddenly standing before them, arms spread wide. "No. Not yet."

His eyes glowed white as he seemed to use an ability. On his face appeared a golden crack similar to the one Libris had, but he did not seem to mind.

A shadowy barrier formed around him, one that, despite Ash, Iris' best effort, and Zayd with Lain, Amy and Lyra, who had joined their charge, it did not seem to even bulge.

"Get out of the way!" Ash snarled, his enhanced fists glowing brighter.

"The mark must grow," the man said, ignoring the threats, his eyes locked on his son. "And for that to happen..." He smiled, but it was the smile of someone who had already accepted their damnation. "Well, you already know, don't you, Crow?"

"Stop," Crow said, his voice hoarse. "Just... stop."

But his father continued, his expression growing sadder. "The question is: how much suffering is required? How much loss can one soul endure before it either breaks entirely or transforms into something beyond human limitation?"

The door began to splinter. Black claws pushed through the gaps, followed by writhing tentacles that seemed to taste the air.

"Lain!" Lyra screamed.

Lain immediately put an ice barrier right throughout the entire middle part of the room. It did not seem to matter much, though, as soon—after the door was broken—a crack appeared on the ice’s wall.

"We're exactly on time." Abaddon looked at his son with that incomprehensible sadness. "I had hoped to spare you this particular lesson for a few more years. To let you grow stronger before... but the acceleration of events leaves me no choice."

The man said, and then placed his hand on the wall behind him. The stone began to glow with an eerie light.

"The teleporter will activate in thirty seconds," he announced. "Those who survive may use it. Consider it... a graduation exercise."

"Just what are you—"

"You know what I'm planning. You've always been too intelligent not to see the pattern, even if you refused to acknowledge it." He spread his arms wide, as if embracing the moment. "Every hero needs loss to define them. Every weapon needs to be tempered in fire. And you, my son, need this push and more to come so you become what this world requires."

Amy's mind raced, and she could feel herself begin panicking as she uselessly used her ability, showing her nothing to escape her situation.

Death. Death. Death. Death.

"No," she whispered, pushing herself further. Blood trickled down her nose and headchades assaulted her, yet nothing changed. Every single thread terminated in darkness. Every possible future ended the same way—with all of them torn apart in this cramped room. Her ability had never failed her so completely.

"Perceptive," he acknowledged, glancing at her. "You see it too, don't you?"

"Crazy FUCK! What are you talking about!?" Iris screamed as she continued punching at the barrier.

"This is the end of your friends," Abaddon said, as if discussing the weather. "Not all of them, perhaps—that would break you entirely, and a broken weapon is useless. But enough. Enough to push that mark to the next threshold. Enough to—"

The remaining ice exploded inward.

Chaos creatures poured through—a writhing mass of claws, teeth, and impossible anatomies. The walls to their side shattered simultaneously, more creatures flooding in from that opening.

"Defensive positions!" Crow screamed, the pouring of the creatures finally getting him to act, Bloodedge igniting with crimson energy.

But they were already surrounded. The small room transformed into a killing floor in seconds. Amy threw up a barrier just in time to deflect a creature that looked like a mass of teeth and eyes, but two more immediately slammed into her from the side. She hit the ground hard, rolling desperately as claws raked the air where her head had been.

She heard Lyra scream—a sound of pure terror—as something wrapped around her legs. Ash was cursing steadily, his enhanced fists crushing through creature after creature, but for every one he destroyed, two more took their place. The sharp crack of ice echoed as Lain fought desperately, freezing creatures solid only to have them shattered by their fellows pressing forward.

Amy scrambled backward, her palms scraping against rough stone as another creature lunged at her. This one was different from the others—its body a writhing mass of segmented limbs that clicked and scraped against each other like broken glass. The sound alone made her teeth ache.

Her back hit the ground. She tried to stand up, but her body betrayed her.

The creature coiled, preparing to strike. Amy could see her reflection in its dozens of eyes, each one showing a different angle of her expression filled with terror. Time seemed to slow as it launched forward, mandibles spreading wide enough to fit her entire head.

She raised her hands, trying to cast anything. And to her surprise, a barrier did materialize between them—but not her usual translucent gold. This was something else entirely. Solid light given form, humming with power that made the air itself sing.

The creature hit the barrier and simply... unmade. Not burned or shattered, but erased, its dying shriek cutting off mid-note as if someone had lifted a needle from a record.

It was then that she realized this wasn't her magic.

[Oops,] Libris said, its voice casual…??? [My bad. That one looked particularly bitey. All those teeth, you know. Would have made quite the mess.]

"Libris!" Amy gasped, a smile appearing on her face—one that slowly disappeared as she saw the floating book in front of her with a cover full of cracks.

"Libris! You're—"

[Cracking apart like a dropped egg? Yes, I noticed.]

Another creature dove from above—this one resembled a bat crossed with a centipede, its wings beating with wet, meaty sounds. Another golden barrier intercepted it, and again, the creature simply ceased to exist where it touched the light.

[Though I prefer to think of it as developing character. Like aging cheese. Or wine. Or any metaphor that makes structural failure sound sophisticated.]

"What the— Libris, this isn't fucking funny!" Amy's voice cracked, and she could swear tears were beginning to form in her eyes.

[Humor is subjective, Amy. Some people laugh at suffering. Speaking of which—]

The battle raged around them. Crow's father was quietly observing it all beside Amy. And contrary to the monsters, he did not seem to notice her presence within the golden barrier.

Amy caught glimpses between the chaos: Ash's fists connecting with creature after creature, each impact accompanied by the wet crunch of breaking chitin. But his movements were slowing, enhancing magic flickering. Sweat mixed with blood on his face.

Iris fought with brutality, but there were too many. For every creature she destroyed, two more pushed forward. A thin line of red was spreading across her back where claws had found their mark.

Lain's ice was everywhere—spears, walls, frozen breath that turned creatures solid. But the sheer heat of bodies pressed together was melting it faster than she could create it. Her usual calm was completely gone, revealing something raw and desperate beneath.

Even Zayd was being pushed back. His shadow magic writhed around him, but his techniques didn't seem to be meant for this kind of sustained assault. Blood dripped from a gash on his forehead, running into his eyes.

And Crow...

Crow's Bloodedge carved through the air in perfect arcs. The blade sang its hunger, crimson energy trailing behind each strike. He moved with the efficiency of someone who had trained for this his entire life.

He seemed like he was the only one not completely overwhelmed. But Amy could see the reality. And she could see the pattern forming—the way the creatures were slowly, deliberately herding him. Pushing him into a specific position.

"Crow!" she tried to warn, but her voice was lost in the cacophony of battle.

[Oh, this is going to be bad. Cover your eyes, Amy. This is what we in the business call a 'pivotal character moment.']

"What are you talking about?"

[You'll see. Three... two... one...]

Crow spun to face a massive creature that had somehow gotten behind him—a thing of too many joints and razor edges. Bloodedge swept up to meet it, the blade burning bright enough to leave afterimages.

But it was a feint.

As Crow committed to the strike, another creature darted in from his blind spot. This one was smaller, faster, with appendages like blades. Amy saw it all in horrible clarity—the way Crow's eyes widened as he realized the trap, the desperate attempt to pull back, the knowledge that he was a fraction of a second too slow.

The sound of flesh parting was sickeningly wet. Almost gentle, like silk tearing.

For a moment, no one seemed to realize what had happened. Then Crow's left arm fell to the ground with a dull thud, fingers still twitching.

The scream that tore from his throat was raw, primal—the sound of someone whose world had just fundamentally changed. He stumbled, Bloodedge wavering in his remaining hand as blood sprayed in arterial spurts across the floor.

"CROW!" Lyra's voice cracked with desperation. She tried to move toward him, but two creatures had her pinned, their weight crushing her into the floor. Her healing magic flickered around her fingers, but she couldn't reach him, couldn't help.

[Well, and there it is. Narrative tension achieved. The readers do love their suffering—dismemberment, desperation, the healer unable to heal. They truly love this, the gore.]

"What?" Amy's voice came out strangled. She couldn't look away from Crow's severed arm, still wrapped in the sleeve of his coat. The fingers had stopped moving.

[I'm sorry about this, truly.] Libris's tone shifted, becoming warmer yet somehow colder. [But the truth is, Amy, I only care about one person in this room.]

Another creature charged at Amy—a mass of muscle and hunger. This time she didn't even try to defend herself, too shocked to move. Libris's golden magic swept it aside like dust.

[Honestly. Despite my best efforts to become more human through imitation, I simply cannot replicate your altruism… It's like trying to paint with colors I've never seen. I understand the concept intellectually—sacrifice, compassion, the desire to protect others. But feeling it for other people not named Amy Stake? That remains beyond me at the moment.]

More cracks spread across Libris's cover, visible even through Amy's satchel. The fractures glowed with an inner light, with each crack, the light grew stronger, and the sound—like bells, slowly shattering.

"L-Libris… You're letting them die…?" Amy's voice was hollow, disbelieving. The words felt unreal even as she spoke them.

[No, of course not. That would be bad for the plot…and for you. Especially for you.]

A big amount of relief travelled through Amy at that moment.

[But also, the readers would riot if I let you save everyone perfectly—you'd be labeled a Mary Sue in an instant. And next time, I won't be there to help you. So, although it might be hard for you, they need to suffer. Just a little. For character development. That dumbass of Crow especially needs it.]

As if to emphasize the point, Iris screamed. The sound was high and sharp as claws raked across her back, shredding through her jacket and into flesh beneath. She spun, driving her elbow into the creature's throat, but Amy could see the way she favored her left side now, the way blood was beginning to soak through.

Ash had dropped to one knee, his enhancement magic flickering. Each time he tried to push more power through his channels, the light dimmed further. Exhaustion was written in every line of his body, but still he fought, still he pushed forward. A creature's claw caught him across the ribs, and he grunted, doubling over.

[You see?] Libris observed, his voice just as casual as ever. [Stakes. Consequences. The readers need to believe that victory comes at a cost, or they'll lose investment in the narrative. It's basic story structure.]

Amy felt disconnected from her body, as if she were floating above herself, watching the carnage unfold while golden barriers kept her untouched. The contrast was obscene—her friends bleeding and dying while she stood in a bubble of absolute safety.

"This is insane."

[Indeed. This world is insanity.] More cracks spread across Libris's surface, the light growing brighter. [But I suppose that's what makes it real. Sanity is such a fragile construct, isn't it? A shared delusion that things make sense, that there's order beneath the chaos. But strip away the pretense, and what do you find?]

Another creature lunged at the golden barrier, its form dissolving on contact. Amy barely registered it, her attention fixed on the book floating before her.

[Raw existence. Suffering without meaning. Heroes who bleed real blood for imaginary purposes. Honestly, none of this matters. Apart from you obviously, nothing matters. The pain, the growth, the noble sacrifices—it's all just... movement. Sound and fury, signifying nothing. In the end, it's all a script a bitchy Goddess wrote.]

Crow stumbled again, his remaining hand pressed against the spurting stump of his left arm. His face had gone white, but still he fought, Bloodedge weaving desperate patterns in the air.

[Look at him,] Libris continued, almost gently. [The 'chosen one.' The marked child of prophecy. Right now, he's discovering that destiny is just another word for inevitability, and inevitability is just another word for meaningless plot progression. His father orchestrated every moment of suffering—not out of love, but out of necessity. Not for Crow's benefit, but for the mark's. The boy is nothing more than a vessel for something larger than himself, and that something? It doesn't care about his pain, it only cares about the entertainment it would bring.]

Lyra's healing magic flickered desperately as she tried to reach Crow, but the creatures pressed closer, sensing weakness.

[And yet—and this is the beautiful paradox—the meaninglessness is precisely what gives it meaning. Because in a universe where suffering serves no higher purpose, where gods play games with mortal lives for their own amusement, the choice to care anyway becomes the only truly heroic act. The choice to love, to fight, to protect—not because it's ordained or destined or cosmically significant, but because you choose it. Because it matters to you, even if it matters to nothing else. The same choice I had to make today for you.]

The cracks across Libris's cover spread further, creating an intricate web of fractures.

[I'm not exactly dying. But this form, this consciousness—it's disappearing as we speak. And do you know what I've realized in these final moments? I don't actually want to be human. I don't want to feel what you are feeling right now, the weight of caring for everyone, the paralysis of empathy, the crushing responsibility of trying to save people who may never say a single thank you. But I do want to understand why you chose it. Yeah, sure, circumstances kind of forced you into this, but you could have still run, you know? Why do you keep caring for everyone, even when it hurts? Even when it's meaningless. I wanted to understand that…but alas.]

Amy watched Ash fall to both knees now, his enhancement magic completely exhausted. A creature raised claws above his head, preparing for the killing blow.

[So here's my final gift to you, Amy: a chance to pursue your objective. This is enough suffering for one chapter. We've established stakes, created sympathy, demonstrated the threat. Time for the climax.]

"What are you—"

[I'm going to kill the father and save your friends. Not because I care about them, or the story that much, mind you. But you would feel terrible if they died, and your emotional distress would make me depressed. So please be happy.]

"Libris—"

[Don't worry about it. Everything breaks eventually. The only question is whether it breaks with purpose.]

Light began emanating from Libris' pages—not the warm golden glow of before, but something harsher. It started as a pinprick, barely visible through the fabric. Then it grew, slowly at first.

The nearest chaos creature noticed first. It had been circling Amy, looking for an opening in Libris's defenses. As the light touched it, the creature froze mid-step. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, starting from where the light made contact, it began to fade. Not dissolve or disintegrate—it simply became less real.

The creature had just enough time to emit a confused chirp before it was gone entirely.

The light continued to expand outward in an ever-widening sphere.

The next creature to touch the light lasted even less time. Then the next. And the next.

[Ugh. They don't even have time to feel pain. How disappointingly merciful of me. After all the distress they have caused both you and me, they should.]

The sphere of light expanded faster now, accelerating with each creature it unmade. The chaos creatures seemed to realize the danger—those at the edges of the room tried to flee, scrambling over each other in their desperation to escape. But the light was faster, inexorable, absolute.

Crow's father's eyes widened in genuine shock—the first real emotion Amy had seen crack his composed facade. The sadness in his expression vanished, replaced by something primal.

"Impossible." His voice was barely a whisper. "What is—no—"

He threw up his hands, and shadows erupted from his palms—not the subtle manipulations from before, but raw, desperate power. The darkness was absolute, seeming to devour light itself, creating a void in the shape of a man.

But Libris's radiance ate through it without any kind of effort.

"NO!" He stumbled backward, more shadows pouring from him—from his eyes, his mouth, bleeding from his very pores. His form began to blur, reality bending around him as he activated what must have been an emergency escape. The air around him twisted, space folding in on itself. "This isn't—"

The light reached him just as his form began to fade. For a moment, two forces contested. He screamed—a sound of agony and fury that seemed to come from multiple throats. His form flickered between solid and shadow, here and elsewhere. Then, with a sound like tearing silk, he vanished entirely.

[Oh… He escaped… Well, he is almost dead, and those wounds are permanent, so I don't think it matters much. You can take care of that much, right Amy?]

The light pulsed once more. Within seconds, every chaos creature in the vicinity was gone.

The sudden silence was so complete it had physical weight, pressing against Amy's eardrums. She could hear her own heartbeat, unnaturally loud. Could hear the drip of blood hitting stone. Could hear someone's ragged breathing—maybe her own.

And with that, the book fell to the ground.

Amy looked down.

The light faded. What it revealed made her stomach clench.

Libris rested on the wood floor like any ordinary book. Except there was nothing ordinary about its condition. The cover was charred black, cracks spreading across every surface. Wisps of smoke rose from its binding, carrying the scent of burnt paper and something else—something that smelled like ozone and regret.

"Libris?" Amy whispered. She reached for the book with trembling hands, afraid to touch it, afraid not to.

There was no response.

Her breath stopped, and her tears be—

"It's still there," a voice said, but it didn't come from the book. It came from... everywhere. "Barely, but there."

Amy looked around in confusion and growing alarm. Something was wrong—the quality of light had changed. The air felt too thick, too present and absent all at once.

That's when she noticed.

Everyone else had frozen.

Not frozen like statues—frozen like a paused video. Crow knelt clutching his severed arm, blood suspended mid-drip from the wound. Iris was mid-motion, turning toward them, her expression caught between relief and concern. Even the dust motes in the air hung suspended.

A chill ran down Amy's spine. Not from cold, but from recognition. She remembered this sensation. She'd felt it before. Right when everything began.

"Hello again, little mistake."

It was then that she realized the Goddess was sitting beside her, having appeared out of nowhere—or perhaps she had always been there, and Amy simply hadn't been allowed to see her until now.

She was just like the first time, skin pale as snow, long white dress, eyes seeming to contain entire galaxies, and hair flowing like liquid gold.

Her perfectly manicured hand reached down to pat Amy's cheek, cleaning out her tears. The touch was gentle, almost motherly. It made Amy's skin crawl.

"Well," the Goddess said, examining the water on her hand. "Have you learned your lesson?"